


in sickness and in health

by silverhedges



Series: the zodiac signs as: drama [2]
Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Food, M/M, Sick Character, Sickfic, Trans Ging Freecs, this is for the ging apologists
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-20
Updated: 2019-01-20
Packaged: 2019-10-13 13:22:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17488814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silverhedges/pseuds/silverhedges
Summary: Ging shows up sick at Mizaistom's apartment.





	in sickness and in health

The intruder alert system rings out when Mizaistom is at the office. Only he notices it, his fingers stilling mid-typing at the keyboard. The system is part of his nen ability. Not a deterrent from thieves with swift hands at lockpicking, but when an intruder takes a single step over the boundary of Mizaistom’s apartment without his permission, he knows. He knows exactly where they are in his apartment and what they are doing.

It’s distracting. He packs up as quickly as he can, nods gracefully to Cheadle and heads out. By the time he’s jogged down the stairs and is leaving the Hunter Association HQ, his shoulders have relaxed. He knows exactly who this is. An intruder in Mizaistom’s apartment, only to lie down on his living room couch and stay still?

This makes it the third time that Ging has done this.

Mizaistom takes the twenty-minute subway home. He stops in at the 24-hour convenience store before he heads home directly. Even if it’s Ging, Mizaistom has a responsibility to feed a guest. Into his shopping basket goes beef, broth cubes, celery, onions, carrots, button mushrooms and candy sticks. There’s enough milk at home.

When Mizaistom unlocks the door, the apartment is still dark. “Waiting to catch me out?” he calls out, switching on the light, shopping bag jostling against his hip. “Or have you yet to figure out how electricity works?”

There is a misshapen, dusty pile of rags on the couch. They might even be Ging. They groan a little in response.

Mizaistom sighs and sets his shopping down on the low table. He reaches out a hand to check Ging’s head. He’s hot to the touch. “Are you sick, Ging?”

One hazel eye cracks open. “Mhhhhhmmmmmm.”

Mizaistom frowns down at their unruly Boar zodiac. “I have questions for you, you know. Where on earth did you go to this time? I was going to have to place you on the missing list.”

Ging sighs and attempts to bat Mizaistom’s hand away. It is a rather weak attempt. Mizaistom sits back on his heels and curses the fact that out of all the Zodiacs, he may be the only one who is a genuinely nice person. Ging’s list of people to turn to when sick must be very, very short. Mizaistom understands.

He takes the shopping into the kitchen and places everything away properly in the right place. The kettle is filled with water and switched on to boil. He fetches a spare blanket from the guest room and covers Ging on the couch with it. Ging has fallen back to sleep, but the blankness of his unconscious face isn’t really that different from his normal face.

Mizaistom makes lemongrass tea in a large mug. He brings it into where Ging is lying.

“Ging,” he says, and then louder. “Ging. Ging Freecss. Wake up.”

Ging blinks at him and then seeing the tea, blearily sits up a little. Mizaistom sets the tea safely on the table and then, polite but determined, says, “Let me take off your boots and coat before you have your tea. You won’t be comfortable sleeping like that.”

“Mhmmmm. Okay,” Ging murmurs, nodding. He lets Mizaistom unlace his boots (and honestly, the man reeks, Mizaistom is going to have to make him take a bath later) and place them by the front door. Ging, lethargic, manages to take off his outer coat/piles of rags by himself. The hat is a different issue: Mizaistom takes it off because Ging has fallen back to sleep.

Seeing Ging’s head free of his hat is a rare occurrence. Mizaistom prevents himself from running his hand through Ging’s hair.

He wakes Ging up again to push the mug of lemongrass tea into his hands. Ging sips it while Mizaistom takes the piles of rags to the washing machine, wrinkling his nose. If Ging won’t wash his own damn clothes, Mizaistom will have to. When did his life turn into this exactly? Or maybe it was always going to be like this. Ever since he was a child, he was compelled to help people. There are always going to be people like Ging in this world, who take advantage of that.

Mizaistom dims the living room light to low to let Ging sleep.

The vegetables are cut up, onion-tears blinked back. Fried until they soften and then poured into a slow cooker with boiling water. Add the broth cubes. The beef is fried and then added into the mix. Satisfied, Mizaistom leaves the beef stew to cook on high in the slow cooker. It’ll take maybe four hours. That is a good enough time for Ging to sleep.

In his own bedroom, he looks through his ordered wardrobe. All his clothes are too large for Ging, but letting him sleep in those rags is, in Mizaistom’s mind, immoral. He picks out the pyjamas that Netero had gifted Mizaistom for his birthday a few years back. They’re cow-patterned, with a little cow saying “I LOVE MOO!” on the front.

If nothing else, it’ll make a splendid sight.

Mizaistom changes himself out of his Zodiac outfit into causal clothes, setting down his hat and washing off his makeup. He takes his laptop and a spare book to the kitchen and spends the next few hours working, while keeping an eye both on the slow cooker and Ging.

When it’s done, he makes more lemongrass tea. Serves the beef stew into two bowls with wooden spoons and takes them into the living room. Lacking anywhere to sit, he sits cross-legged on the floor, bowl in the crook of his legs. It's a shame that Ging is too sleepy for the candy sticks. Mizaistom would have split them half and half with him.

Ging stirs himself, woken up by the smell of food. Mizaistom hands him the bowl and Ging tucks in automatically. For a few short minutes, the two of them eat in silence. Ging’s hair is unwashed and messy, falling down over his eyes. Then Ging blinks rapidly as if awoken from a very deep sleep and fixes Mizaistom with an intense stare.

“I’ve newah seen you wihhou ya,” Ging talks with his mouth full, waving a hand towards Mizaistom’s general being, “Ya kno.”

“Ging, please talk after you’ve chewed and swallowed your food.”

Ging swallows. “You look weird.”

Mizaistom pinches the bridge of his nose. “What a compliment to your host.”

“It’s an okay kind of weird. Just strange. You look better with your cow makeup.” Ging’s tilted his head, eyeing him up. “Is this what you used to look like?”

Mizaistom takes another spoonful of his food, and swallows before answering. “Shouldn’t I be the one asking the questions? You did very suddenly appear in my apartment, sick as a dog. Where on earth have you been for the last while? Cheadle has sent countless emails to you.”

There is a silence, which Mizaistom expected. Ging chews through more of his food, before replying: “I’ve lost the password to my Zodiac email.”

“We can get your password reset,” Mizaistom deadpans. “At least give me an explanation for why you came to _my_ apartment.”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Ging raises an eyebrow at him. “Most other people would have just tossed me out on the street for the bin men to collect in the morning.”

“There’s still time for that.”

Ging glares at him, while eating his food, with his blanket over him, sitting on his couch, in his apartment. Mizaistom is a little bit done with him. Ging drains the bowl, and then, stubborn and quiet, admits to the empty bowl: “Out of all the people I know, you’re the kindest to people in need. Don’t ask me to repeat it.”

Mizaistom knows better than to respond. He only holds up his hand for the empty bowl and exchanges it for Ging’s mug of lemongrass tea. He eats himself while Ging is drinking his tea, staring out into nothing. It’s almost nice. Has this ever happened before between them? Just a quiet and gentle moment of weakness like this?

He takes the empty bowls to the kitchen and does the washing up promptly. Leaving anything unfinished will nag at him until he does it. When he returns to living room, hands warm and sweet-smelling from the hot water and the soap bubbles, Ging has dozed off again.

Mizaistom sighs.

Leaving Ging to rest a while longer, Mizaistom takes his own shower while he can. He usually sleeps just in boxer shorts, but wears pyjama trousers for propriety’s sake tonight, even if he hates how hot his ankles get. Once dressed, he pads over to Ging and crouches down, one hand on his shoulder to wake him up.

When Ging opens his eyes, he stares at Mizaistom for what is perhaps longer than necessary.

“Take a shower,” Mizaistom tells him firmly. “I’ve pyjamas set out for you. I’ll wash your clothes and you can sleep in my bed tonight. Sleeping on the couch all night will make your body hurt in the morning. You need proper rest to recover.”

Ging doesn’t respond. His eyes aren’t at eye-level.

“Should I call Cheadle to come and check you over? Make sure you aren’t worse than just a cold?”

“No, no, no.” Ging coughs. “Uh. Yeah. Shower. I’ll… go do that now.”

He rises slowly from underneath the pile of blankets, limbs stiff. Mizaistom watches him stumble into the bathroom and an idle thought pops into his head: _Ging’s hair is going to smell like my favourite shampoo brand._

For a moment, Mizaistom considers texting Cheadle for help, but then decides against it. Maybe he’s gotten himself into a situation beyond his control. Maybe this will make a good story to relate to Cheadle over coffee and muffins in the café down the road from the Hunter Association HQ when they next meet up. Who knows.

Mizaistom fetches a clean blanket and pillow for himself out of the storage closet. Sleeping on the same couch with the same blanket just increases the chances of himself catching Ging’s illness. He takes Ging’s mug into the kitchen to be cleaned and dried. Mizaistom Nana runs a tidy and efficient household, even if it’s only for his own benefit.

A while later, Ging stomps out of the bathroom, a towel around his hips. Mizaistom’s eyes catch on Ging’s chest scars, but he looks away to be polite. Once Ging has headed into Mizaistom’s bedroom to get dressed, Mizaistom swoops into the bathroom to pick up Ging’s rags that he passes off as clothes. They go into the washing machine to be washed, along with the blanket covering that Ging had been using earlier.

Mizaistom is just straightening out the new blanket and pillow on the couch when the bedroom door opens. Ging leans against the doorframe, wearing the “I LOVE MOO!” shirt and nothing else. Mizaistom does not look at his thighs. He refuses to look at Ging’s thighs.

“Aren’t you coming to bed?” Ging says, soft. The tone sets Mizaistom’s stomach curling with heat. Ging’s head is tilted, eyes dark and half-open as he looks at Mizaistom. “Wouldn’t want to make you sleep on the couch. Bed’s big enough for the both of us.”

 _I should have kicked him out immediately,_ Mizaistom thinks to himself.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Mizaistom replies, shoulders stiff. “You’re sick. Sleeping in the same bed will only make me sick as well.”

Ging crosses his arms. “After sleeping so much, I feel much better. Why don’t you come over here and check my head?”

Mizaistom is a fool, so he approaches.

Has Ging always been so short? Mizaistom’s looking down at him. Maybe he’s just smaller without all the layers of rags he wraps around himself. Mizaistom technically should be checking his temperature, but they’re staring at each other, clear anticipation in the air. Ging uncrosses his arms.

Ging takes his chance to wind his hands through Mizaistom’s hair and lean his head down so that Ging can kiss him. It’s quick, Ging’s mouth hot against his own, before Ging leans back and smirks up at him. “There. Now you’re definitely gonna get ill from my germs.”

“You little rascal,” Mizaistom murmurs as a curse, and kisses Ging deeper, hands on his waist.

Long story short, the couch is abandoned for the night.

In the morning, Mizaistom wakes up with a pounding headache and a rising temperature, but at least Ging is still sleeping in his arms. That is honestly more than he would have expected of Ging. He takes the opportunity to run his hands once more through Ging’s bristly thick hair. With a great sigh, he texts Cheadle to let her know that neither him or the Boar will be at today’s Zodiac gathering. Let them all think whatever they want to about their absence. For once, the gossip mills will be right.

**Author's Note:**

> honestly i really am daydreaming about Perfect Husband Mizaistom Nana.......
> 
> follow me on twitter @silversgone for ging apologist content every single day


End file.
